Akasha,Dragon of Prophecy: a Dunmeri tale
by The Beloved Silencer
Summary: Should she give up or should she still be chasing dreams? Even if they lead nowhere? A story of a girl who rises from the underbelly of society to the ruler of a nation,a story of a woman who would live up to her name and become the daughter of the Dragon


It was Sun's Dusk, the seventh; it was a dark stormy night, rain pouring, thunder rumbling, lighting striking the ground.

Azazill was in unbearable pain; it was worse than when she gave birth to the twins.

Her face was twisted, like a screwed up piece of discarded paper. Sweat dripped down her face, creating a damp patch on her white shift and acting as superglue between her skin and hair.

"Not long now pet." Her mid-wife smoothed back some hair which had fallen across Azazill's head. "Not long now." She moved back around to where Azazill's legs seemed to grip at the sheets beneath her. She frowned, and then glanced back at the girl pacing behind her. "Go comfort your mother, ya worried slut!"

Daimah stopped pacing and peered at the bed's occupant. Gulping, she nodded and moved towards the bed. At the moment her mother let out a heart-wrenching scream that shuddered around the room and brought with it a torrent of emotion which shot around the room again and again until she felt like being sick. Daimah paused and backed up, staring at Azazill in panic.

"Get on with ya," muttered the mid-wife, peering at Azazill. She started forward again, and then paused as she realized that she hadn't actually been speaking to her. Instead, it looked like she was addressing the space between her mother's legs. She looked and almost gagged at what she saw. Daimah hurried to her mother's side and clasped her hand.

"Tell me it's going to be okay," Azazill's eyes stared into Daimah's own, wide and glinting with the built up tears. "Tell me it's all going to be fine," she implored.

Daimah stared at the mid-wife, who looked back questionly, as if to say 'Don't get your hopes up'. "Um ... er … yeh … yeh, it's going to be fine … Nothing to worry about at all mother …" Daimah stammered out, feeling guilty.

"Are you sure? Completely sure?" Before she could answer, her mother's hand gripped hers with such ferocity that she was forced to the floor, crumpling her ice-blue velvet blouse and skirt. Again that scream came, reverberating around the room and bouncing back to come again into Daimah's ears.

"Almost there pet, almost there." The mid-wife attempted to reassure her. "One more push, and he'll be out."

The whole family had been hoping for a boy since her mother had miscarried two boys in the past spring and fall. When she had managed to go past the sixth month with out losing this baby everyone knew that this baby would be brought into the world, whether her mother lived or died.

As her hand released his from its clutches, she flexed it and grimaced at the paleness that she could see there.

The mid-wife spoke again, "Are ya ready there, pet? Any second now okay? Then ya gotta push like your life depends on it." Azazill nodded, gasping for breath and grimacing, she had given birth to twins before, and had two children ripped from her body, but she had never felt pain like this. "Okay, 'ere it goes …" The mid-wife trailed off as she moved her hands forward. Daimah looked away, at the tiles, at the mid-wife, at anything except there.

It seemed like five hours passed, just ticking away as Daimah's mother pushed and pushed. Her younger twin brother, Daevon had come in wondering if their mother had given birth yet, had seen in between his mother's legs, vomited and then fainted. Several mid-wives had come in and worked over Azazill for several more hours, till almost a whole day had passed since Azazill had gone into labor.

The original mid-wife pulled Daimah away as she noticed Azazill breathing break and go dreamy. Azazill breathed deeply, in through her nose, out through her mouth, in through her nose, out through her mouth, until her body froze and her face contorted into a extreme grimace. Her hand shot out to seize her daughter's, forcing her nearer, and a scream pierced the air, cutting through any other emotion that existed until it seemed like there was only pain and despair left. On and on it went, as her body shook with the force of the scream and her efforts. Daimah's yell soon joined, shouting at her to push and get it over with, as her arm began to tremble from the crushing of her hand.

Suddenly another noise. A wailing that varied in pitch like the scales on a piano. With it Azazill's and Daimah's own noises trailed off. They stared at the mid-wife, who clutched a slippery thing in her arms that squirmed and yelled its troubles to the world. She turned and laid the writhing object on a towel covered table next to her. They noticed the tightly wound cord that protruded from the object's middle and disappeared in Azazill's gap between her legs.

Moments later Azazill moaned again, yet not as loud or full of pain as she had before. A final push and her struggles were over. She lay panting, smiling in relief at the daughter who smiled back at her by her side. It was over. No more pain, no more struggles. All over.

The mid-wife came towards them, holding something wrapped in a clean, white towel. She passed it to Azazill on the bed, which looked down at what she says and smiled down at it contently. Daimah looked over her shoulder, and her smile widened in delight. There lay a small object, light violet in color with a smooth face in a deep frown of puzzlement. It looked like their faces, but much smaller and much lighter, and much smoother.

"Congratulations love. It do be a girl." The mid-wife stated and held Daimah's hand. "I'll leave ya' now to get acquainted, if ya need help ya know where I do be." She left the room, but they did not notice; so absorbed where they with the object in the towel.

Azazill sent Daimah to fetch the family; the crinkles of her face smoothed out and replaced with a look of affection that seemed to make her shine. "What shall we call you?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The royal families sat as the priests carried the newly born infants up the steps of the open temple. This was a private naming ceremony; the names would be giving out when the children were older. Azazill sat silently next to her burly husband, Relen, who towered over her, and her twins stood behind her. Her great-aunt Barenziah, the queen mother of Morrowind and Vvardenfell stood proudly before them as the naming ceremony began.

The first child was a girl; a bastard child of Helseth, and Azazill's niece and ward, her sister had passed giving birth to her. As the priests' arms raised the child above there heads they chanted and then uttered the child's name;

Hel'ena.

The next was twin boys, two weeks old, Barenziah's bastard son Nightingale II's children and the priests once again repeated their process; Magpie and Crowe.

Lastly was Azazill's newly born baby, and she swelled with joy that her baby had been born on moon festival, till a roar rang out the temple. Apprentice priests came running in to see if everyone was ok, then pulled back the cloth cover of the temple for everyone to see.

The shining moon blazed like white fire, and in that fire was a red dragon, wings spread and head arched in the way of the Akatosh. As other babies cried and screamed at the roar, the baby in the priests' arms still rose in the air, just cooed and squealed in a delighted tone.

The priests in amazement lowered the baby to their chests, slack jawed and blown away murmured the babe's name ever so quietly, and so quiet that only Barenziah could here.

Several look passed over Barenziah's face; shock, fear, confusion, then joy. The families railed, pulling and pushing for the babe's name, and after several seconds passed and Barenziah kissed the child, she picked up the little girl and displayed her to the still wavering dragon,

"This is your child, brother of Akatosh, a child of beauty, fire, and independence. Take her in your arms and teach her well, this is Akasha, daughter of a mortal, and a dragon of prophecy!"


End file.
